


it helps, it helps

by cinnabean



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Has a Bad Day, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, cora is barely in this, derek gets bad news, derek has some lunch, scott is the bearer of bad news, softly described violence, that's the summary more or less, when i get back from work lol, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 00:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13892823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnabean/pseuds/cinnabean
Summary: Derek’s sitting at a table outside the café he’s supposed to meet Cora at for lunch, tucking into the book she’d picked up for him last week, when he hears a heartbeat stand out from the rest.





	it helps, it helps

**Author's Note:**

> listen........... derek will get nice things eventually. i promise...

Derek’s sitting at a table outside the café he’s supposed to meet Cora at for lunch, tucking into the book she’d picked up for him last week, when he hears a heartbeat stand out from the rest.

It’s--well, something about it is familiar, well-known. Derek listens for a few seconds before closing his book and looking around in surprise.

He’s a good hundred miles away from Beacon Hills but he’d recognize the crazy off-rhythm beat of Stiles’ heart anywhere, for reasons he likes to ignore. In all his years, Derek’s never heard another heart quite as eccentric as his, which is fitting, because he’s never met anybody quite as eccentric as Stiles either.

The heartbeat speeds up as it approaches, and Derek starts to feel stupidly irritated that he can’t see Stiles yet. Or smell him.

Then, there’s a hand on his shoulder. Derek curses internally for letting himself become so absorbed with Stiles and his approach that he allows _anybody_ to sneak up on him and make physical contact.

He lifts a hand up as he turns, ready to pinch the hand hard, until he makes eye contact with Scott, who looks as surprised to see Derek as Derek is surprised to see him.

“Scott,” he greets. “What are you doing here?”

“Meeting up with somebody,” Scott says, after a pause like he doesn’t remember. He’s shifting his eyes up and down Derek’s body like he’s taking it in, and on almost anyone else that look would piss Derek off but he’s more than aware that Scott is just categorizing all the changes, all the ways Derek is different than he was the last time they saw one another. “How’ve you been, man? you’re looking good!”

“Better than I was before,” Derek answers honestly. If his string of honesty continues, he’ll soon be admitting to himself that he’s disappointed to see Scott rather than Stiles. But the heartbeat is still approaching, which means Stiles _will_ be here soon. “A lot better. You?” he considers pulling back the chair opposite him and inviting Scott to sit while they wait for their companions to arrive, while trying not to make it look like he’s pitying Scott for his injury, but he thinks about how Cora would react to finding Scott in her seat and decides he doesn’t really feel like making a scene today. It’s been going so well already.

Scott dips his head as he scans the café. “Fine, I guess. we haven’t had any big incidents in a few months. nothing serious since--well. You know.”

Derek makes a face. He does know. He remembers the frantic voicemails he’d discovered on his phone after spending two weeks in a South American rainforest, rocking the full shift. They’d been from Scott and Lydia, stiff with terror, begging first for information, then for help. A monster that the bestiary had no mention of had crawled into Beacon Hills, they’d informed him, and it was tearing down civilians like they were as fragile as wet paper. Derek had been too far south to come back in time to help them fight, but he’d called in some of the favors his family had held with nearby packs, and a week later the thing had been killed.

He doesn’t know all the details of what happened over that week, doesn’t know why calls and emails from the pack to him are suddenly much less frequent, but Scott’s made it clear that none of them are upset with derek for taking a while to respond. For taking too long.

“Heavy stuff,” Scott says with a shrug. “I guess I’m still getting used to the way things have changed since then.” Derek wants to ask the things he means, but it’s been a good few years since they’ve even been face to face. He can wait a while before asking about personal details. For now he shrugs in return and motions to the other chair with his book, Cora be damned. “Oh, no--that’s good. That’s alright,” Scott chuckles. “The person I was waiting for is here-” and Derek’s twisting in his seat to follow Scott’s gaze, because Stiles is finally here and Derek hasn’t seen him in years, hasn’t heard his voice even since around the time the monster had passed through he stopped the weekly phone calls he’d been making after Derek left .

Derek hadn’t been able to bring himself to pick up the phone over the years, content to wait the calls out and then listen to the voicemails afterward. If they were serious--and they rarely were; it was usually Lydia calling when the danger was legitimate--then he would call Scott’s phone and relay his advice there. Part of him was afraid that speaking with Stiles directly would taint the slight friendship they’d managed before Derek had left; part of him feared that his awkwardness over the phone would prove to Stiles that he was better off not talking to Derek at all. To his relief, though, Stiles never seemed to care that he was essentially talking to himself. The weekly calls seemed natural and pleasant, carrying the same vibe at times that they’d had in verbal conversations, giving Derek the sensation that he hadn’t quite left everything behind.

Sometimes he’d imagined answering the calls: what he’d say to Stiles, how he’d joke and make the kid _laugh_ in that crazy way he does where it just takes over his entire body, how he’d be so casual and smooth that it wouldn’t matter at all that they’d hardly liked each other for the majority of their knowing each other because they liked each other now and that was that.

Then he’d remember everything: the way it had felt seeing Scott crushed under a wall and bleeding because Derek had been too slow, the way Melissa and Allison and Stiles all held their breaths as Deaton did his level best to force Scott’s heart back to life, the way Scott hadn’t blamed Derek for his near death but still walked with a heavy limp that even his advanced healing couldn’t touch, the way guilt at almost killing another pack member had driven derek almost back to the point he’d been at when they all first met. The way everybody had reacted when he’d announced he had to leave and take some time on his own to come to terms with himself. The way nobody had argued. The way Scott frowned but said nothing. The way Stiles had avoided looking at him.

He’d remember all that and it became quite easy to leave his phone in his pocket, or wherever the hell it was when it started ringing.

After the _incident_ , the phone calls became biweekly, then monthly, then bimonthly. they came from Scott or from Kira, or occasionally from the pack as a whole when they happened on pack nights, but they stopped coming from Stiles. Not hearing his voice in a few months is something that Derek wished he wasn’t so irritated about, but he really has been spending time coming to terms with himself, so he knows exactly why he is.

It doesn’t matter though, because Stiles is here. somewhere. Somewhere that Scott can see, even though Derek can’t, because he’s stretching an arm out and waving him over to their table. Derek can even hear Stiles’ heart, he _knows_ that he’s here, he just... can’t see him.

A man ambles up to them, grinning at Scott. He’s got pale skin, dark hair, and bright eyes, but it’s not Stiles, not at all. It’s not even an adult version of stiles, one that’s the grown up figure of the kid that Derek knew, it’s an actual complete stranger.

“Allen,” Scott greets warmly, not oblivious to Derek’s confusion but fully ignoring it. “Good to see you again! Here, here!” he shows the guy to the table next to the one Derek’s at, conveniently empty, and they sit down after shaking hands. “This is Derek. he’s an old friend.”

Allen turns to look at Derek and the grin falters as soon as their eyes meet. Derek can’t help that he’s reverted back to glaring, _sourwolf_ style. The rush of excitement is still thrashing against his ribcage, refusing to acknowledge that his senses fucked up, that Stiles isn’t actually here, that the rabbitfastlionstrong heartbeat is coming from this man who Scott knows and Derek doesn’t.

“Nice to meet you,” Allen says, and his heart thumps around it. He’s not lying, not completely. He’s just confused, and a little bit afraid.

“Likewise,” Derek replies. Scott tilts his head slightly to show that he noticed the lie--and he probably has--but Derek doesn’t care. Maybe when Cora finally gets here they can relocate to a different area, or even a different café entirely, so Derek doesn’t have to worry about annoyingly familiar yet wrong heartbeats in his ear.

“Derek,” Scott chides, “I know you haven’t met him yet, but Allen’s very--special, to us. at home.” _be nice_ is implied but Derek has faced bigger threats than Scott and his puppy eyes. Implications mean nothing to him.

Allen’s frowning, at the word choice presumably, but he drums his fingers against the tabletop and shrugs easily when Derek makes his face relax.

“I’ve heard a bit about you,” he announces, once Derek’s wrestled on a blank face. it almost comes out like a challenge, like _i know about you and you don’t know about me_ , but there’s an almost disgusting kind of eagerness in his voice, the same kind of puppyish voice that Scott has. Derek suddenly has a hard time believing this young man could be any kind of threat.

“Good things, i hope?” do they have good things to say about him? or has he really just been a grumpy nuisance the entire time? the worry is very real, and Derek wants to make Allen go away so he can ask Scott if anybody actually liked him back home, but he takes a deep breath and pushes the doubt away instead. Scott had been genuine earlier, when they’d met. Scott wouldn’t pretend to like him if the rest of his pack didn't.

“Great things,” Allen replies readily, like he’s about to start listing off the things that he’s heard. Derek nods, like he’s ready to hear those things, then gathers his book and drink to find another table. Scott won’t mind, he’s sure of it. Scott never minds about anything, not even former alphas who get him permanently crippled past the point of werewolf healing.

“Hang on, dude,” Scott cuts in. “There’s something i gotta tell you before you leave.” the look in his eyes is intense. The change in his scent is sharp. Derek sits back down, unease filling him like acid. Shit’s been smacking them down for many years. Scott’s never looked so weary before. Whatever news he has, it’s actually bad.

Allen pushes out from his seat, announces that he’s going to go order their drinks, and then leaves. Derek wishes Cora was there to pull him away. He wishes he wasn’t so afraid of what’s coming. He’s had bad news before; he’s had the worst news he could’ve ever expected to have. He just thought he was done with bad news.

Scott runs a hand through his messy hair and down his face. He pinches the bridge of his nose, takes a deep breath, and says, “i know you can hear him. His _heart_ ,” he clarifies, when Derek can only look at him in confusion. “You’ve been looking for Stiles since I got here, I know you have.”

Derek doesn’t deny it. Why bother? Scott would hear any lie, and besides, what’s the point about lying about that? Scott wouldn’t judge him. Scott knows. He probably always has.

“You’re not going to see him,” Scott continues. His claws are out, tracing the fine lines in the wooden tabletop. “You’re going to hear his heartbeat and you’re going to look for him over your shoulder, out of the corner of your eye, but you’re not going to see him. Not anymore.”

“What are you saying?” Derek growls, but it’s halfhearted. There’s only one thing that a speech like this leads to. He knows what’s coming, even though he can’t begin to comprehend it.

“He’s gone, Derek. That thing caught him just before we could kill it, and we-- _I_ \--couldn’t get him away in time.” Scott’s voice is anguished, and his eyes are pinched shut--he looks like he might be reliving the scene in his head. Derek knows the right thing to do is say something to break him out of it, but his wolf is stuck on those first two words, a dumb animal incapable of understanding them.

“Gone,” Derek repeats.

“We all thought he was safe," Scott cries, and it sounds like a confession," we all thought that nothing would happen, but it must’ve crushed something while it was holding him, because he died in his sleep that night. From internal bleeding.” _Crushed ribs,_ he whispers, _punctured lung. Multiple major blood vessels severed._ Soft and monotone, like he's repeating something he heard from a doctor.

“ _No._ ” but it makes sense, doesn’t it? Stiles wouldn’t have broken his tradition so easily without a good reason. Stiles wouldn’t have left him wondering if he’d done something wrong, if Stiles was sick of him, if he regretted ever calling him in the first place. It makes a horrible kind of sense, the sickest kind, and Derek has to force his claws back in once he notices that he’s gripping the table with a little too much force.

“We didn’t know how to tell you,” Scott whispers. “Lydia said you’d think it was your fault--” how accurate; he does, now, “--and we all thought it would be better for you to find out in person, rather than over the phone, or in an email, but we didn’t know when you’d be coming back.” It seems like an excuse for not telling him, rather than a reason. The way Scott hangs his head and can’t meet his eye tells him that it probably is.

“Why can I still hear him?” Derek grits out. It’s the missing piece of the puzzle Derek needs to complete before he can trip headfirst into the devastation of fresh grief.

Scott shakes his head, rubs at his eyes and smiles brokenly at the table. “We’d all decided to sign ourselves up as organ donors, a few months after you left. Figured with the number of times we nearly died, it would probably happen sooner rather than later, and we might as well make it that someone out there would get something out of it when it happened.” He scrubs a tear from his cheek. “Allen is the one who received Stiles’ heart. None of us really expected it to beat just like it did for him. I think that’s why we haven’t been able to leave him alone. Sometimes we can almost pretend Stiles is still here. It helps”

Derek closes his eyes, reaches out with his ears and just listens to the achingly familiar rhythm. It never occurred to him when he was leaving that he could be hearing it again like this, beating from the wrong body. He can pretend, for an instant, that he’s back in Beacon Hills, that Stiles is pittering around nearby being the pest that he is, rather than cold and dead in the ground. presumably.

He has no idea what to say, and of course, that’s when Cora finally comes storming up to them. Her face is twisted into a snarl but Derek bets that’s mostly because she can smell his distress. “What,” she hisses, “ _what’s_ happening?” and Derek covers his face with his palms and mumbles _Stiles_ just loud enough for his sister to hear. Just loud enough to make it real.

It’s funny. Derek had really thought his heart had been broken too many times to break again.

He’s wrong.

Cora grabs Derek by the shoulders and drags him away from the café, ignoring Scott’s whimpered apologies and the shocked sounds coming from the onlookers. Derek’s book is left behind on the table but he doesn’t quite care. Words loop and twist in his head, a new set of poisonous ghosts that he won’t be able to let go of.

_~~gone gone gone too late crushed gone bleeding died not safe not safe gone bleeding dead dead dead~~_

_we can almost pretend stiles is still here,_ Scott’s voice echoes. _it helps. it helps. it helps_.

It doesn’t. It really doesn’t. It never will.

**Author's Note:**

> ...just not in my fics lol. be on the lookout for a sequel because i feel like writing about both fights mentioned here--the one that maimed scott and the one that killed stiles :p just fun teen wolf times!!! thanks for reading! lemme know if you cried!!!


End file.
